


Curiosity

by TheLonelyJournalKeeper



Series: Ni No Kuni Hogwarts AU [3]
Category: Ni No Kuni: Wrath of the White Witch, Ni no Kuni
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Age Changes, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Angst and Feels, Backstory, Complicated Relationships, Daddy Issues, Drama & Romance, Emotional Hurt, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Family Issues, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Pensieves, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Indulgent, the Hamelin arc is my favorite in case you couldn't tell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-16 23:32:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10581759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLonelyJournalKeeper/pseuds/TheLonelyJournalKeeper
Summary: Esther had to admit there were some things she would like to know about Swaine, but a trip into a pensieve leaves her with some answers she didn’t want to hear and even more questions.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Luna_Myth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luna_Myth/gifts).



Esther liked to be helpful. Her father had raised her to assist others whenever she could and she enjoyed it. It was quite satisfying to her, particularly when she could be of use in an adventure with her friends.

But more mundane tasks had their charms too so she frequently offered to run errands and the like for the professors. Plus it never hurt to get the professors on your good side. 

Even the stranger ones like Professor Gallus. She couldn't quite put her finger on what was so odd about him, but he just seemed somewhat…off. When she’d first seen him, back in first year, she’d thought he might be a ghost though she’d never heard of a ghost being in color before. Nevertheless, the man just seemed distinctly out of time, out of place, for some reason.

But that aside, she didn’t dislike him though she couldn’t say she knew him well enough to say she liked him. Still, there was no reason not to help him, particularly as he'd asked for it and she had nothing else to do that afternoon. Oliver was playing Quidditch and Swaine was...doing whatever Swaine did. Besides, she could use a break from all the studying. 

Which was how she found herself going through stacks of old papers on a Saturday afternoon in Professor Gallus’ office. It wasn’t difficult work which was fortunate as her mind was elsewhere. 

Swaine was acting a bit odd. Or rather, he was acting no odder than usual, but she'd recently become aware that he acted a bit strange whenever certain topics were brought up. 

Like during the Yule Ball, for example. He'd gotten so defensive when she'd asked why he stayed at Hogwarts during the holidays or why his name used to be Gascon. 

And that wasn’t the only instance. He was just so difficult to read sometimes, but if she had to guess, she’d say he acted like he was carrying around some secret pain. It was strange...

She finished up her task though it took her a moment to realize she was out of papers. “Oh! I’m finished, Professor,” she said brightly.

“Excellent," the man rumbled. "I have something for you.” 

“You do?" she said, quite surprised. 

“Yes. In exchange for your hard work, allow me to help you with something in return.”

“Oh I don’t need anything, Professor. Thank you anyway,” she said though her curiosity was piqued.

Gallus hummed in a way that might’ve indicated amusement. "Oh I think you will find this useful. Come. I intend to show you something.” 

He led her over to a cabinet set against one wall and opened it, revealing a basin on a low shelf. Pearly, gaseous liquid danced around inside of it, swirling and billowing. 

Esther gasped. "That's a--" 

"Pensieve. Look closer." 

She stepped forward tentatively. "What is—?” 

Then suddenly, she felt a hand on the back of her neck, and she was leaning forward into the pensieve, and then she was falling, falling, falling into the pearly nothingness. 

For a heart-stopping moment, she was afraid she would just keep falling. Then her feet found ground and she was standing in a place she had never seen before—the inside of what seemed to be an old manor house. It was stately and grand, polished stone and rich, dark wood. Tapestries and banners adorned the walls. 

It was grim, cold. Refined to the extent it was lacking any warmth. It didn’t look lived in. 

She looked around rapidly. Where was Gallus? Was he not joining her? Whose memory was she in? 

She quickly became aware that she was not alone in the room. In fact, the two boys that also occupied it served as the only source of warmth. 

They were young, much younger than her, not yet Hogwarts age. The younger of the two boys looked no older than seven, perhaps six. He had long dark hair, beautiful blue eyes, and a face Esther could tell would be very handsome once he grew up. He looked familiar to her, but she couldn’t quite place him. The elder of the two boys looked about nine, perhaps older. He had dark hair, more brown than the younger boy’s jet-black, brown eyes, and features that were more tough and arrogant than fine and elegant, but there was still a sameness between the two boys that made Esther guess that they were brothers. Their actions seemed to confirm this. 

“Come on!” said the elder of the two. “Show me what you can do!”

The younger boy smiled, his childish face glowing with excitement. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Then he opened them again suddenly. “Look!”

Three books shot off a nearby shelf and hovered in midair. As the boy concentrated, four more hopped off in quick succession and joined them. 

The elder boy laughed in delight and lightly slapped his brother on the shoulder making the books wobble in midair. “Congratulations! I knew you could do it!"

“Thank you, brother,” the younger boy beamed. “Look what else I can do!” Brow furrowing in concentration, he slowly led the string of books through the air in a figure eight, then a circle, then they fell into a neat stack on the floor. A second later, they popped right back into place on the bookshelf.

His brother gaped. Then he grinned. “Don’t go showing off now! You’re only six.” 

“Oh. I’m sorry. Should I not show Father then?” 

“Don’t be sorry! This is great! You’ve got a gift. Of _course_ you ought to show Father.” 

The younger boy smiled sheepishly. It was clear to Esther that his brother’s praise meant the world to him. 

“Show me what?” came a voice from the doorway. 

The older boy’s smile froze on his face, but his brother darted over to the door where a tall, imposing man was standing. He most resembled his oldest son in coloration, but there was a sharp, regal edge to his features that his son had not inherited. 

"Father!" exclaimed the blue-eyed boy. “I want to show you something."

“Oh? Let’s see it then.” His tone was gruff, but his eyes were interested. 

“Yes, Father,” the young boy said obediently. He repeated the little performance he’d put on for his brother. 

Was it Esther’s imagination or was the older boy edging towards the door like he wanted to escape notice? 

The father's expression was full of pride as his younger son finished. “Well done!” he said, brusquely. “You show much potential. You have the makings of a great wizard—as you should. You are of Hamelin blood.” 

_Hamelin_? Esther thought. She’d heard that word before…once or twice.

His father spoke like his son had passed a test well, but the boy smiled. “Thank you, Father.” 

“Yes, well…” He turned to his elder son who froze in his attempts to escape. “Your brother would do well to follow your example.” 

The older boy stiffened. “What do you mean by that, Father?” His eyes smoldered. 

His father sighed before speaking dryly. “Really, I would’ve thought it obvious. What I mean is that despite being several years his elder, you have failed to demonstrate _any_ magic. Let alone _control_ it. I need hardly add that this is highly unusual for our family and I should hope it changes soon. If not, I fear it shall be quite…inconvenient for the both of us. Do you understand me?” 

The older boy’s face flushed and he balled his hands into fists by his side. “Yes, Father.” 

The man turned to leave, but paused briefly to glance at his youngest son. “Good work. Do me proud.” 

The boy smiled weakly, glancing nervously at his older brother. When his father had left, he went to stand by the older boy, placing his hand on his shoulder gently. 

“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure your magic will show up soon, G—“ 

His brother brushed his hand away. “Never mind that. It’s fine.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Of course I am. Now I bet you can’t turn those curtains a different color.” Esther’s heart banged with sympathy, but suddenly the scene faded away and was replaced with another. 

“Wha—“ She looked around, seeing that she was outside now, on the grounds of an enormous manor house. She guessed it was the same place she’d been inside of earlier. She caught sight of the same pair of boys from before, confirming her guess. There weren't far away from her and they didn’t look much different. The younger one's hair was a bit longer and the elder looked a bit angrier, perhaps slightly taller. If she had to guess, she’d say it had been a few months since the last scene. 

She caught up to them and noticed the older boy was holding a toy gun in his hand. She had a momentary flash of deja vu and a suspicion started to grow in the back of her mind. 

There was a distinct note of pride in the older boy’s voice as he hefted the gun and said, “Look here. This is what I wanted to show you.” 

His younger brother’s eyes turned round as saucers. “Whoa! Where did you get that?” 

The older boy’s mouth twitched as he suppressed a smile. “I made it. Don’t tell anyone, alright? Father wouldn’t approve.” 

The younger boy nodded solemnly. To Esther’s dismay, she got the impression the older boy asked his brother to keep things from his father fairly often. 

“Okay. So look at this.” He loaded the gun and took aim. 

“Those aren’t real, are they?”

“The bullets? Nah, they’re plastic. They won’t kill anybody. Look.” He fired and the projectile whizzed through the air, landing harmlessly some distance away. “See?”

“Wow! That’s so cool! It fires just like a real gun!”

The older boy smiled a proper smile at that. “You wanna see some tricks?”

"Yes, please!”

Esther couldn’t help a smile as she watched the scene. The older boy was clearly showing off for his brother, spinning the gun around and firing from behind his back, and the younger boy was loving it. 

Then suddenly, the older boy fired the gun again and the bullet _exploded_ midair into a great burst of color and light, almost like firework. 

“Wow!” his brother exclaimed. “What kind of bullet was that?” 

The older boy nearly dropped his gun. “It was—it was just a regular bullet. I—I think _I_ did that.”

The younger boy’s eyes widened. “You did? That’s amazing! Can you do it again?” 

“I-I dunno. Let's see.” He loaded the gun again and took aim. Esther saw his shoulders rise and fall as he took a deep breath. 

He fired. The bullet burst, just like before. He grinned and loaded the gun again. “Get a load of this!” he shouted, firing again. Another burst of light and color, bigger than before. 

“We should show Father!” The younger boy sounded thrilled. 

“What—really? I don’t think he’d want to be bothered for something like this…” 

“I'm sure he would, brother! I’ll go get him.”

“Are you sure that’s—yeah, okay.” He nodded determinedly. 

Esther's heart went out to him. She didn’t know who he was, but she hoped this would go well from him. Perhaps the father had been in a bad mood in the last memory. Sadly, Esther didn’t think that was the case. The man was _always_ that harsh. 

The older boy’s actions seemed to confirm this. He paced nervously, fiddled with his toy gun, looked over the plastic bullets. 

Esther wished she could reassure him, but in truth, she had no assurances to give. And even if she could, this was just a memory. She wasn't really here. All of this had happened before. There was nothing she could do. She could only watch. 

A few moments later, the younger, black-haired boy came running back, now accompanied by his father who looked much the same. 

“Right this way, Father!” 

“What are we here for? I have business to be attending to. I can’t afford to waste time tramping through the grounds.” 

"This is important, Father!” 

“Very well. What is it?” 

The older boy, who’d stiffened upon their approach, spoke. “I can do magic.” His tone dared his father not to believe him. 

The man raised an eyebrow and let out a short bark of laughter. “Can you? It would be about time. Go on then.” 

The eldest son set his jaw and squared his shoulders before raising the gun.

“What is—" 

“Shh!” said the youngest son. “Please don’t interrupt, Father.” 

“Fine.”

The older brother fired the gun. The bullet sped off through the air and for a moment, Esther was worried it wouldn’t work, but no trace of fear showed on the boy’s face, only determination. 

Then it happened. An explosion, the biggest yet. It flashed a thousand shades of gold, silver, and bronze. 

The boy turned back to his father with his chin lifted triumphantly. 

His brother clapped. “That was the best one yet!” 

“Was that it?” The father said coldly. “Exploding bullets from a muggle gun?” He laughed sharply. “That looked like a mere parlor trick!” 

The older boy suddenly looked furious, but his father wasn’t done yet. “In fact, how do I know that wasn’t a parlor trick? Can I even be sure that was real magic? And not some clever hoax.” 

“It’s not a hoax!” the boy shouted defiantly. “I _can_ do magic! I’m just sorry it isn’t good enough for you!” He raised his gun, pointed it towards the sky, and fired in one quick motion.

Esther expected another explosion, in fact she was hoping for one. Instead, the bullet shot straight up and rippled until where there had been one bullet there were suddenly three. 

The older boy looked just as surprised as everyone else and his father took the opportunity to wrench the gun from his grip. The boy’s gaze snapped back to his father, eyes blazing.

“What are you—?! That’s _mine_!” 

The father evaded his son’s attempts to snatch back the weapon. “Are you quite finished?” 

The boy glared at him, saying nothing.

“I thought so. I’ve had enough of this foolishness. Where did you get this?” He held the gun like he found it distasteful. 

“I _made_ it,” the boy spat. “Which means it's _mine_. So give it back!” 

"You _made_ this bit of muggle garbage? That hardly seems like a valuable use of your time.” Without warning, he dropped the gun and crunched it beneath his foot. Esther heard it snap in pieces. She gasped.

The older boy flinched. “I spent weeks on that!” 

“And you won’t do so again!” his father said harshly. “It was a waste of your time. You would be better suited trying to figure out how to perform _real_ magic! As it is, you’re an embarrassment to the family.” He turned on his heel and marched off, leaving his eldest son looking like he’d been struck across the face. 

He knelt to pick up the shattered pieces of his gun and shouted at his father’s retreating back. “What do you care?! I could learn all the magic in the world and it wouldn’t be enough for you!” 

Esther’s heart broke for him. The hurt in his voice was so raw. 

The boy’s brother reached for him, perhaps to try to console him, but then the scene was fading and Esther couldn’t tell what happened next. 

As the universe formed around her again, she began to wonder if she ought to try to figure out a way out of here. Would the pensieve release her automatically when all the memories were finished playing? If so, how many were there? And whose were they? That’s what she really wanted to know. 

That older brown-haired boy and his brother…they each reminded her of someone, but she couldn’t put her finger on who. She felt like she almost knew, but not quite. It was maddening. 

She was back in the manor house again. The older boy was eavesdropping on a conversation, his ear pressed to the keyhole of a door. 

He looked older, but not by much. It couldn’t have been more than a year since the last memory. 

Esther knelt at the door too, beside the boy. He looked painfully familiar up close. 

She caught a thread of conversation through the door and she listened harder. 

“I hear your son shows great skill at magic, and at such a young age too!” Esther didn’t recognize the speaker. 

“Oh yes,” a voice agreed. Esther grit her teeth. She recognized that voice. The father. And judging from the way things had been going, this wasn’t going to end well.

“My son, Marcassin, is quite gifted. I’m very proud. I have full confidence he will make a great wizard someday.” 

Esther gasped. _Marcassin? Of course! He looks so much like him! But that would mean…_

“How lovely! And what of your other son? I can’t recall his name. I’ve not heard much about him—save that for a while you though he might’ve been a squib.” The guest laughed like this was a perfectly amusing joke. Esther didn’t see anything funny about it, what with the terrible suspicion forming in her mind. 

“Ah yes. Gascon. I wish I could say he was following his brother’s example, but I fear his talents lie…elsewhere.”

Esther’s stomach twisted unpleasantly. Oh. _Oh_. Gascon. That was a name she’d heard before, a few times, as if on accident, and from none other than Marcassin.

“Swaine," she whispered. These were _Swaine’s_ memories. Oh, oh, oh _no_. “I shouldn’t be seeing this…" 

But the conversation went on without her permission and she couldn’t help but listen, spellbound. 

“What ever do you mean?” 

"Quite frankly, Gascon hasn’t the slightest real gift for magic. He’ll need to find his own path.” 

"Do you mean to say he won’t be your successor? Will that role fall to Marcassin?” 

“That seems likely,” Swaine’s father said brusquely. “In fact, I question the amount of time the two spend together. It isn’t as though there is anything Marcassin could learn from his brother. Still, Gascon will be off to Hogwarts this year so that will solve that problem at least.”

“Perhaps it will solve the other problem as well,” the guest suggested helpfully. “There’s wonders a good teacher can work.” 

“Yes…that would be ideal, wouldn’t it? Unfortunately, it doesn't seem all that realistic. I’m amazed he made it in at all.” 

“Well at least his house is assured. Your family has been in Ravenclaw for centuries.” 

“Yes. He is clever enough. If he could only put it to good use.” 

Esther sensed the boy—Gascon, _Swaine_ —move beside her and she glanced at him, feeling like her heart was breaking. He was on the verge of tears, hands balled into fists, and color blazing on his cheeks. 

How had she not recognized it was him at once? It seemed perfectly obvious now. True, he was much younger and she was hindered by the lack of untidy school uniform and stubble, but his eyes remained the same for one, and his mannerisms were much the same for another. 

Gascon/Swaine stood up suddenly, and the next thing she knew he was running off as fast he could, and she was standing up to go after him for no real reason, except that it was the only thing she could think to do, and then the universe was fading again, and she was somewhere else. 

To her surprise, she recognized it this time. The Great Hall at Hogwarts. It was the beginning of the year banquet, judging by the row of first years lined up along the front of the hall. The Sorting Hat perched on a stool in front of them.

All of their youthful faces showed varying stages of fright. Except for one. Swaine’s face stood out for being grim determination. 

The Sorting Ceremony had already commenced. Esther expected to hear the name Gascon any moment, but instead the cry was “Swaine!” 

She blinked, surprised, but a little bit pleased too. She didn’t know how he’d managed it, but she was starting to have a better idea _why_ now. 

She watched as first-year Swaine, already lanky, loped forward and placed the Hat on his head. 

She knew what came next, but now she felt an expected twinge of sympathy for him. _Been in Ravenclaw for centuries_. Well, tradition be damned, in her opinion. 

It wasn’t two moments before the Hat declared “Slytherin!"

There was a momentary flicker of doubt across his face, but it faded quickly as he went to join his new housemates.

Esther was silently wishing him luck even though it had all already happened and she knew the result of it all. She didn't think it was a bad result. 

The Great Hall blurred and reformed. It was breakfast time. Swaine looked virtually the same as he had when last she’d seen him, sitting at the Slytherin table.

She was relieved to see he looked in a pretty good mood. 

It didn’t last naturally. A large, majestic owl swooped down in front of Swaine and dropped an envelope before him.

Esther silently cursed Gallus for making her watch this. She recognized this sort of letter. 

So did Swaine whose eyes widened. 

A few of the other Slytherins chuckled. “Good luck.” 

Swaine glared at the letter, indignant. “He sent me a _Howler_?” There was no need to guess who "he" was. 

The Howler sprang to life. “Gascon!” thundered his father’s voice. “After all I have done for you, you have the _nerve_ to get sorted in _Slytherin_! You’re a—"

Swaine rummaged around in his robe and pulled out a gun, a new one. Impossibly quick, he aimed and fired, hitting the Howler on the first try where it promptly burst into flames. He let out a sigh of relief, cheeks burning. 

“Nice shot,” someone commented mildly. “That your dad?” 

Swaine was silent. 

“Well whoever he is,” the Slytherin went on, “he sounds like a piece of work. More toast?"

“Yeah, alright. Thanks.” 

Esther let out a sigh of relief as the Great Hall rippled and reformed again. This time there a different row of first years lined up. Her eyes immediately picked out Marcassin amongst them. He looked quite serene in comparison to the rest of the, 

She glanced at the Slytherin table. Yes, there he was, looking older and more familiar. 

It wasn’t long before Marcassin was called up to the front. The Hat was barely on his head before it called out, “Ravenclaw!” 

Marcassin smiled and gracefully made his way to the Ravenclaw table who were cheering for him. He glanced at where Swaine was seated, applauding him, briefly.

“Do you know him?” one of Swaine's housemates asked him. 

“Yeah, I might,” Swaine replied. He didn’t elaborate. 

Then Esther was standing in a corridor on the second floor. It was empty, but for two figures who she was immediately able to recognize as Marcassin and Swaine, not looking any older than in the last scene. 

“Gascon! Why does everyone call you Swaine here?” 

“Shh! Don’t call me that!” 

“But _why_?” Marcassin asked, eyes wide. “What was wrong with your real name? I don’t understand.” 

“Nothing. I mean…look,” Swaine sighed, “It's not about the name. It’s about the person. Gascon—he's got all these expectations placed on him. He’s supposed to be this great wizard and get sorted into Ravenclaw and all that. Like you. But I can’t be that person. I don’t _want_ to be that person. But Swaine can do whatever he wants, get sorted into Slytherin, mess around with stupid bits of muggle engineering. So I’m Swaine. It’s a fresh start for me. You get that, don’t you?"

Marcassin nodded slowly. “Yes. I understand.” He paused. “But this Swaine…he's still my brother, isn’t he?” 

Swaine couldn't help but grin. “Yeah, of course I am. That’s never gonna change.” 

The world started to fade again, but this time nothing replaced it. 

Suddenly, Esther was standing by the pensieve, reeling. She felt as though she’d run a mile and seen a lot she shouldn’t have. This had been such an invasion of privacy, even if it hadn’t been her fault. 

But mostly what she felt was overwhelming, heart-wrenching sympathy. God. She’d known Swaine didn’t get exactly get along with his family back home, but this…

She shook her head to clear it. It was all in the past. Swaine was okay now…right?

In any case, besides sympathy she also had questions. Her adventure in the pensieve had answered a few of her questions and created a lot more. 

She looked around and realized Professor Gallus was nowhere to be found. Naturally. 

Esther took a deep breath and left the office, praying she wouldn't run into Swaine just yet. She had a lot to think about first. 


End file.
